Ground Control
by Sarah the Boring
Summary: Cid Highwind returns to Rocket Town to figure out what he's fighting for, and finds it's been there all along. (As fuzzy as a Cid story's likely to get while still reasonably in-character...)


**Ground Control  
A Final Fantasy VII Fanfiction  
by [Sarah][1]**

Final Fantasy, names, characters, et cetera copyright Square Soft, Inc. The story itself is the property of the author.

  


. . . .

_Now, I'm no big fan of the theater or anything. But this thing put me to sleep, just like I thought it would. Finally during the last scene, the guy next to me woke me up tellin' me my snorin' was too loud. So about all I really remember of that play is the end...  
The sister of the lead asks her lover, "Do you really have to leave?"  
And the guy says, "I promised. The people I love are waiting."  
"......I don't understand. Not at all. But...... please take care of yourself."  
"Of course... I'll come back to you. Even if you don't promise to wait. I'll return knowing that you'll be here."  
I remember thinking when I heard those lines, *&%! What the hell's he talkin' about? But, you know... now I'm not so sure...  
I think I understand......  
--Cid Highwind, FFVII_

. . . .

  


The house was quiet. The pilot tossed his spear into the umbrella stand and shut the door behind him. The house was definitely too damn quiet, even if it was getting to be nighttime. The clanging metal and yells and unholy screeches and shotgun blasts of battle were still too fresh in his mind. The quiet was creepy.

He cleared his throat and called a nickname he hadn't used in months. He never said it around anyone else. It was something just between the two of them, like a private joke. "Lieut?...Lieutenant?"

"...Captain?" The voice was distant, but he knew it almost better than his own voice. He'd heard it every day for almost twenty years, after all.

Shera stepped into the kitchen from the workroom, her hands smeared with motor oil and grease. She was wearing an apron over her clothes, likewise messy, and her hair was starting to fall loose around her face. She'd been working for hours, by the looks of it.

"It _is_ you," she said, hanging back like a tongue-tied kid who's just run into a movie star. "I thought you'd still be out fighting—what's going on? It's not over, is it?"

"Nope. I just got a... kind of a break." He plunked himself down in a chair at the kitchen table, suddenly relieved and completely exhausted. "Lieut, make us some tea, huh?"

"Oh! Certainly, Captain." She flew to the kitchen sink to scrub her hands and put water on for tea. Cid rested his head in his hands, half listening, half just letting his brain try to decompress without exploding. It was hard switching gears like this. Months of fighting for your life and mutated psychoes and all the rest of that crazy BS, and bam! You're back in your kitchen at home, watching your boarder make tea. It's a wonder he didn't pass out.

"I've been trying some new spices," Shera said over her shoulder. "Would you like to taste it?"

"Sure." He heard the cupboard door creak open and shut—about time someone fixed the damn thing—and a cup and saucer gently clinked on the table in front of him. Cid looked up as Shera poured him a cupful of sweet-smelling, orangish tea. She looked the same as she always had. Well, why not? To the rest of the world, it didn't seem that long since the day she'd saved his life...

Shera filled her own cup and took a seat across from him, stacking up a pile of mail on the table. The pilot cupped his hands around the teacup, soaking in the warmth radiating from it for a second. Then he took a careful sip. It tasted like spices and fruit; he tasted cinnamon, clove, orange and apple. Apples and oranges—weren't those supposed to be unmixable? Different, yeah, like the old saw said. But damn if they weren't delicious mixed together after all, with a little sugar... He was rambling. He tipped back the rest of the cup and set it down.

"More, Captain?"

The woman was uncanny. "Um-huh. Thanks."

Shera filled his teacup and reseated herself across the table. She picked up the brass letter opener and continued to sort through the mail. Damned enigmatic, but he was used to that. Kind of missed it, as a matter of fact. As much as he liked the gang, none of them had what Shera had. The demon Turk, Vincent, reminded him a little of Shera; he had the same quiet calm about him, like he had things pretty well figured out. But he was so all-fired _gloomy._ Not to mention not as good to look at--

_Ohhhh no, bucko, down that road lies nothing but trouble,_ he told himself, _and you know it damn well._ He'd known it since the first time he felt that weird warm glow, back when he was still on the sauce. Shera'd hauled him home from the bar one night, dragged his sorry ass to bed, and as she tucked him in, what transpired in that drunken, addled brain of his was better left to the mists of time. Thank the gods he was too drunk to talk clearly or he'd've surely embarrassed the hell out of himself.

But as soon as he sobered up, he'd known it was ridiculous. Shera wasn't like the brazen blondes that usually drove him nuts. She had class. She was no snob—Shera'd dive elbow-deep into an engine block as readily as anyone—but she had _something._ And she was strong. She'd whipped his ass into shape after he bottomed out, got him off the drink, given his dignity back. Definitely not your average chick.

Cut it _out_, man, down that road is nothing but trouble.

"Captain?"

"Yeah." He looked up; she had paused with an open envelope in one hand and the little dull-edged knife in the other.

"Are you all right? You haven't touched your tea."

He cracked about one-tenth of a smile. "'M all right. Guess the situation just, you know. It weighs on a man's mind. Sorry for gettin' all depressing on ya."

She shook her head, smiling a little. "It's all right. Anything you want to talk about?"

"Nothing you should worry about, Lieut." He sipped his tea. She looked a bit skeptical.

"Are you going to tell me why you're here? Not that that's a _bad_ thing, of course," she added with a touch of humor, "but it seems important."

"Yeah...yeah, it is. I mean, we're up against something so friggin' huge, you can hardly comprehend it. This hasn't been easy, and it's only gonna get harder from here on. So that kid Cloud called a time-out for a week, so we can all get our heads together. Figure out what we've got to fight for."

"I understand."

"And I...well hell, I guess I don't really know. I'm not gonna do it just for myself and I'm sure as hell not gonna do it for Shinra anymore." He knew he was rambling, but Shera just looked calm and thoughtful. He knew she was listening, and wouldn't tell him if he sounded like a damn fool. "Some of 'em have it easy, sorta. I mean, that makes it harder, having something to lose, but at least that puts more of a fire in your gut. Barret, that guy's _sure_ what he's got ridin' on this. Got a little girl back in Kalm counting on him. And I've never seen a guy so all-fired determined to make this go right. And, well... I want to win too and all. Don't have anything to lose like that, though."

Shera looked thoughtfully into her teacup. "What about Rocket Town?"

"Ah, maybe... We got some good people here. 'Course, most of 'em I don't know so well either. I dunno. Sounds dumb, but when you've got death itself breathin' down your neck day after day you kinda want something special to think about to take your mind off it."

"Have you thought about anything like that so far?"

"Sometimes, yeah. Different things. Like when we built the Highwind, or sittin' by the fire in the winter. Peaceful stuff. You know how when you're in the air and something gets f...screwed up, the first thing through your head is what's goin' on back at the base? It's kinda like that."

"I see." She was smiling more now—why the hell was she smiling? He hoped he didn't sound like a frigging sentimental doofus. But even if he did, Shera wouldn't laugh at that.

As he wondered, Shera stood and approached him. She ran her hand over his hair, the kind of weird, quiet gesture that always... what? Made him wonder, maybe. Calmed him down. Maybe something else, like when she'd tucked him in one night. "I think you'll figure it out. Good night, Captain."

"'Night, Lieut." She started to walk away, toward the stairs to her apartment. Cid wheeled around in his chair. "Call me by my name, aright?"

She turned. "What?" she asked, disbelieving, as he asked himself the same question.

"Yeah. Uh...just...if you don't mind."

She smiled. He could just barely see it in the half-dark. "Of course I don't mind. Good night, Cid."

"'Night, Shera."

"If you need anything, you know where to find me."

Now he caught himself smiling. "Yeah. I know."

She gave him a little wave and disappeared up the stairs. Cid Highwind finished his tea and slept easy that night, looking forward to the morning.

  
  


(the end.)

  
  


_Thanks for reading. This is my first Cid fic, and I'm pretty happy with it. ^_^ Comment as you wish._

   [1]: mailto:sarahtheboring@aol.com



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